Page 16 of A Photo Finish
I try not to look at his ass, but I fail. It’s not sweatpants weather, but he’s wearing them anyway, and wearing them well. Tapered at the ankle and snug around the waist. When he faces me again, I roll my lips together and pull my hair over one shoulder so that I can run my fingers through it.
I swear he lifts the glass and sniffs it before saying, “Here,” and sliding it across the island toward me. His hand engulfs the glass. It looks like a child’s cup in his grip.
I take the water once he’s completely let go, not wanting to risk a brush of his fingers against mine, and then reach for the bottle of pills. I read the directions on the bottle. It says two pills every six hours. “I think I’ll go with one,” I mostly mumble to myself.
“Probably a good idea.”
My eyes flash up to his.Dick.Now I want to take two just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me do what he says.
I twist the top off roughly and toss the lid down on the counter. “Didn’t really ask your opinion, did I?” I shake one out onto my palm and toss it back into my mouth.
“Nope. I’m just here to provide the biceps,” Cole deadpans, and I freeze. The bitter taste of the chalky pill dissolving on my tongue fills my mouth as I glare back at him.
Embarrassment flares up in my chest, and I force myself to choke back some water before whispering a quiet, “I’m sorry,” as my eyes dart around everywhere but in his direction.
“For what?” He leans back against the edge of the opposite counter and stares me down like he’s trying to incinerate me on the spot. His gaze is . . . unnerving.
But I don’t want to let him know I think as much, so I sit up tall and flatten my hands out on the wood counter. “For last night. I wasn’t myself. I just . . . don’t like being told what to do.”
A smirk graces his full mouth now, and his look flicks from cool disinterest to . . . something else. . .as his eyes roam over my body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “That’s not how I remember it.”
My fingers pulse around the glass of cold water.Do not throw this at him. You’re an adult. Walk away.
“Like I said,” I glare at him now, pushing to stand and trying not to wince, keeping my voice as even as possible, “I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
And then I turn and hobble back to the safety of the spare room. I want to mope in private.
7
Cole
I hear my phone buzz,but push through my final set of deadlifts before picking it up.
Pretty_in_Purple sent you a message.
Maybe the girl changed her mind? Probably not, and I don’t blame her. I feel greasy, like I need a shower after every time I send a message like that. I know I sound like a sleaze bag, and I hate that. I also know there are creeps on the internet, and I like to think that I’m not one of them. But this arrangement works for me. It assures me the privacy I want and provides me companionship I crave.
Sort of.
I swipe the notification open.
Pretty_in_Purple:How many girls have you done this with?
Good god did this girl have a lot of questions.
Golddigger85:A few.
Pretty_in_Purple:So . . . three?
Golddigger85:Something like that.
Three dots roll across the screen as she types and then her message pops up.
Pretty_in_Purple:Guess they didn’t stick around for the conversation.
I can’t help but chuckle. She’s not wrong. I’ve never been accused of being a great conversationalist.
Golddigger85:No, they stuck around because I talked them into the best orgasms of their life while I watched.
